


Better Than Fine

by Val_Creative



Series: Kinktober/Whumptober/Goretober 2020 [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DCU, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Barry Allen Is A Human Vibrator, Blood, Developing Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Gore, Goretober, Gun Violence, Hostage Situations, Hurt Barry Allen, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Major Character Injury, Metahumans, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Protective Barry Allen, Protective Oliver Queen, Robbery, Romance, Teeth, Threats of Violence, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26801935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Give a speedster a little friction and they burn right up. In a good way, of course. Oliver enjoys watching him.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Oliver Queen
Series: Kinktober/Whumptober/Goretober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949473
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66
Collections: Kinktober 2020, Whumptober 2020





	Better Than Fine

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't decide what I wanted to choose for Arrowverse in this challenge but I haven't tried Barry/Oliver! I do ship them! I hope that my fellow shippers like this and it ends good. I promise. No sad endings. Thoughts/comments appreciated!✨
> 
> (If you read this and leave a kudos, please take the time to leave a ❤️❤️❤️ emoji in a comment! It only takes a second!)

*

When mornings seem fleeting, Oliver likes to take it slow.

Everything's dim—lights, noises and sensations resonate in a muffle. In a half asleep echo. He can feel Barry's hand gripping to his thigh, knuckling down. Barry never points out the obviously rigid scar-tissue on Oliver. _What a good guy._

Oliver fucks him, deep and steady, edging the thrusts until Barry rocks impatiently against him.

He's flushed and _full_ of Oliver, and that's how Oliver prefers it.

Barry moans out, too wrecked with pleasure to complain, when Oliver pulls him up to lie back-to-chest, adjusting them. Their legs crooked apart. Oliver notices one of the boxers slipping off the sheets. Yellow and a bright red.

(That's _definitely_ not his.)

Barry's apartment bedroom looks more like a cheap college dorm. Or what Oliver has seen himself while visiting Starling City's oldest community college. Plenty of young women dragged him into theirs. Small spaces to work with. No desk but a wide, bargain-store lamp plugged in and sitting on the AC's grill. Baseball caps hung up. No posters. Barry's wallet flung aside.

It's grey sheets and an oversized emerald comforter with matching pillowcases dumped on a plain wood bed-frame. Everything creaks when they grind into each other frantically. It's like Oliver's giving him a dirty quickie before Barry's chem lesson.

"Ollie…" Barry whines. All of him sweat-sticky against Oliver's naked front. " _Uuh_ , _hhn_ … more…"

Hearing the nickname pleasantly somersaults his insides.

Oliver smiles close-mouthed behind Barry's ear, moving his hands from holding underneath Barry's spread-open thighs. Give a speedster a little friction and they burn right up, Oliver thinks. In the best way possible.

Barry feels so fucking good when he's clenched-tight. Holding Oliver's entire length inside himself.

He pants, squeezing down and not letting Oliver thrust in further. Oliver doesn't mind.

Whatever Barry wants… _that's fine by Oliver._

Better than fine.

Oliver's thumb lowers, pushing lightly on Barry's hot, stretched rim. Everything feels slippery in a copious amount of lubricant.

Oliver listens to Barry's low, astonished _"oh! ohh!"_ and presses his smiling mouth gently to Barry's head.

He knows Barry is getting close again, groping over Barry's dick jutting from his foreskin, twitching and harder than hell. Oliver holds the base with pressure, starving off Barry's orgasm. Oliver's other hand clasps onto his partner's balls, holding just as firmly.

"Fuck!" Barry groans, his voice loud enough to crack. He thuds his head on Oliver's collar.

"I've got you, Barry. Shh."

 _"Oliver, come on…"_ It's kind of adorable how breathless and cranky Barry gets. For a grown man. _"Ss'not fair."_

"You're gonna learn patience one way or another," Oliver says, clearly teasing him. He tries to get Barry to lose his exasperation. To remain still.

Hard to do while the man Oliver is fucking could vibrate _right out of his hands_ at any second.

A cellphone buzzes.

Oliver considers what to do, and then lets go of Barry's scrotum to answer it. The relief squirms Oliver's partner. It's not enough to let him come, and Oliver doesn't plan to. Not this second. He clasps a palm over Barry's lips, keeping him quiet.

"Hey, Diggle," Oliver says coolly.

"What do you want from The Grind & Jolt?"

Oliver can hear a faint tinny on the other end of the connection. Diggle must be passing under a electrical site. Maybe a bridge. "You're calling me at five am for a coffee run?" he asks. This time it's with a hint of familiar amusement.

"Like you're not awake," Diggle comments, laughing into Oliver's ear.

Barry whimpers softly. He cocks his hips in frustration when Oliver thrusts shallowly, Oliver's fingers locked around him.

"What was that?"

 _"Rats,"_ Oliver says. He can practically feel Barry's eye-roll.

Diggle makes a confused but acknowledging sound. "Felicity said that Helix Dynamics is holding a charity banquet tomorrow night." Oliver tunes him out for a moment, greedy for the sheer heat of Barry through his condom. "Wanna share a ride?"

"Sure," Oliver deadpans. "I'll be your date, Dig."

"Hurr, hurr."

"I'll meet you at the cafe in thirty."

"See you then."

Oliver ignores the dial tone, busying himself with his partner now howling incoherently when Oliver's hands release him. He grips under Barry's thighs again, pounding hard into him, watching as Barry reddens and comes untouched.

He's ready for him. Barry cranes his neck, using both arms to reach over his head and grab Oliver.

He vibrates himself until the edges of Barry himself blurs, never losing control. Oliver feels the heightening vibrations all the way down his cock. He finishes inside Barry, panting open-mouthed and leaning away quickly from Barry's fingernails scraping up Oliver's nape.

Oliver eases him sideways, carefully rolling off his condom. Knotting and disposing of it into a nearby paper bowl.

He turns over to Barry facing him and kissing him, framing Oliver's face with both hands. Oliver tenses for a moment before easing into Barry's kiss, inhaling. It's only a couple of seconds—but to , Oliver falls into an eternity of warm bliss.

Barry pulls away, giving him a sly look.

"This okay?" he murmurs.

Oliver appreciates him wanting to know and for vocalizing. Being thoughtful about Oliver's needs. God knows that Oliver has to work on communicating like a romantic partner does. Not just coming over to Barry's apartment like a _fuckbuddy_.

"You know I'm not a cuddler, Barry."

"Give it time," Barry says like Oliver is mistaken. It's a shameless confidence.

He presses against Oliver's red-raw mouth again and chuckling when Oliver rolls them. Barry flashes that grin with all of his teeth.

Very pretty teeth.

Very _noticeable_.

Oliver didn't know how true it would be.

*

Barry offers to speed him back into Starling City.

Oliver politely refuses, calling back Diggle and letting him know where he is. It's unlike him, but Oliver decides that today is _his_.

Green Arrow or not, he should take _at least_ twenty-four hours to lay low.

*

There's a corner-store owned by a little Russian woman.

Her niece and nephew help her, speaking Russian to her and addressing the customers in English.

Oliver strolls by the Gardener River, staring solemnly out to the sun-drenched waters and zipping up his wool hoodie. It's a bit chilly for April.

Once inside, he notices the Russian woman is alone.

She recognizes Oliver, greeting him in excitement and rushing around the front-counter, kissing Oliver's cheeks wetly. He nods, greeting her back in Russian and kissing her cheeks. The owner hasn't met anyone _but him_ who can carry a conversation in her native language.

Oliver adjusts her patterned blue shawl on her, humming in agreement as she rants and slowly heading towards the glass refrigerators.

It's quiet.

He returns after a minute, gazing behind him and placing Barry's keys on the counter-mat.

That's when Oliver hears a click.

The ice-cold press of metal against Oliver's head.

"Empty your pockets, asshole," the robber mutters, glaring at Oliver's profile.

Oliver blinks, pulling out the dollar bills from his jeans without making any sudden moves. He leaves the money out.

"No problem."

The robber is a short and skinny white man. Mid to late fifties. Oliver can tell through the gaps in the black ski-mask. It's almost comically stereotypical. "Hands on the counter. Try anything funny and I'll splatter your goddamn brains out."

It's not a popular chain store but there's security cameras everywhere. Two women with babies huddle in one of the three aisles.

Oliver needs to think over what to do. Find an opportunity to seize.

"The _fuck_ are you looking at, bitch!" the robber yells. The little Russian woman stares in unconcealed horror between him and Oliver. He presses the revolver harder to Oliver's temple. "Open the register! _NOW!"_

"She doesn't understand English," Oliver calmly explains. His hands rest on the store's countertop.

_"GET THE FUCKING MONEY OR I'LL KILL HIM! RIGHT HERE!"_

Before Oliver can react, a streak of crimson appears. Fast and tinged in an electric golden-yellow. Oliver's throat clenches.

He blinks.

The robber is now unconscious to the ground. Barry, wearing his Flash costume, dismantles the revolver expertly.

"I've got you, Mister Queen."

Oliver raises his eyebrows slightly. He keeps an eye on the two women peeking out, clapping their hands. The Russian owner claps along with them, sobbing out and babbling and praying. The corner of Barry's mouth twitches up.

That's when the second robber— _his partner_ —jumps Barry, swinging a broken pipe. He knocks it clean to Barry's mouth.

Blood flies in the air.

Oliver hustles backwards, throwing out his arms and shielding the now hysterical women. Barry recovers, groaning in agony and speeding out with the two menacing robbers. He's sure that Barry is fine. Oliver stares down to the number of pearly white teeth scattered on the corner-store's floor.

They all glisten red. Chunks of Barry's dark, whole gums embedded in them.

He bends down, inspecting one of Barry's molars.

This isn't good. DNA evidence left out in the open will compromise Barry's secret identity. "Call 9-1-1," Oliver tells the Russian woman who flees to her landline. He ushers outside the two women desperately clutching their infant-slings.

Once he's secured them, Oliver checks on the store-owner and then kneels down, picking up the teeth-shards.

(Every single one.)

*

Thankfully, the Central City Police Department end up slower than Barry.

Barry returns in another minute or so, helping Oliver clean up the blood and bone. His mouth stained red. He grimaces, but doesn't speak up when Oliver touches his arm comfortingly. They don't have much time left.

*

"How is it?"

"Better, I think," Barry replies softly. Oliver's fingertips graze over Barry's lips. His newly grown teeth expose.

Oliver envies him a little.

Metahuman speed-healing comes in handy.

(Lose all of your teeth in a fight? Give it two hours and all of your adult teeth grow back in.)

Barry opens his mouth, croaking out a laugh and allowing Oliver to stick his fingers in. He's illuminated in the apartment television's glow. His tongue drags over Oliver's hairy knuckles, sucking him down, worshiping him.

Nice and slow.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober 2020 prompt(s): **Orgasm denial**  
>  Whumptober 2020 prompt(s): **Held At Gunpoint**  
>  Goretober 2020 prompt(s): **Teeth**


End file.
